


The Beautiful, the Bloody

by underratedkings



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Blood and Gore, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Homophobic Language, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:08:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28100685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underratedkings/pseuds/underratedkings
Summary: ....Once, as a child, he was touched by darkness, by the unknown. From that point on, you could say it was destiny for him to one day become a part of it.
Relationships: Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

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If you were to ask, Wooyoung would still be able to tell you the exact shade of his eyes.

It never mattered that no one believed him, or that at times, Wooyoung didn’t even believe himself. He still saw the man almost everywhere he went, like a breath of wind, or a shadow just out of sight.

He was only six years old when he saw him for the first time.

Wooyoung had wandered too far from his father before he was suddenly grabbed and whisked into a back alley. A large man who smelled fowl gripped his little wrist tight with one hand and used the other to fish out a roll of duct tape. Wooyoung’s hands were bound together by layers of tape by the time the man was done, his crying and wriggling doing nothing to help.

A strip of tape was slapped over his mouth for good measure, a paper bag slipped over his head as he was tossed into the trunk of a car. Wooyoung wasn’t sure how long they had him; the doctors would later say it was adrenaline, making his memories a blur. He later learned it had been four days.

The next thing he remembered was sitting on the freezing floor of a warehouse, trembling in cold and fear as his captor and another man screamed back and forth at each other. The bag and tape were gone, so nothing shielded Wooyoung’s young eyes from the grizzly sight, spit flying from their mouths, eyes wide with rage.

Something had happened, a problem with the ransom. One of them was adamant that Wooyoung should be killed, making the child’s heart sink all the way to his numb toes.

He tore his eyes away, staring down at his dirty bare feet, trying his very best not to make a sound. His lips were beginning to tremor, but Wooyoung kept them locked shut. The men didn’t like it when he made sounds.

Suddenly, a thud came from down the alley, and the two men fell silent.

“Who the hell are you?” was said.

Wooyoung didn’t dare look up, but the next thing he heard were screams and cries for help, not terribly different from his own not long ago. And just like his, their pleas went unanswered.

The sounds were horrible, grotesque, flesh ripping from bone and blood splattering to the ground like some hellish rain. It was loud, pounding through Wooyoung’s ears, until it all suddenly stopped. The silence was still and deadly, until the sound of expensive shoes on the concrete echoed through the warehouse.

They came closer until the glossy black shoes were right in front of him. Wooyoung only shook harder, eyes overflowing with tears. His heart was pounding in his ears. Was he going to die now?

Then, a cool, smooth hand landed on his head, so softly, and a low voice spoke in a hushed tone.

“It’s alright. You are safe now. I won’t hurt you.”

Wooyoung looked up to find a man kneeled before him, bright fair skin shining like the moon, framed by inky hair and a pair of striking, electric blue eyes. He was beautiful, like a statue come to life, everything about him beckoning Wooyoung closer.

However, the man’s chin and crisp white shirt where both soaked with blood, running in red rivers down his tie and dripping to the floor. Wooyoung’s eyes widened as he took in the sight.

Then, remembering the men who took him, Wooyoung slowly began to turn his head, afraid of what he might see. The man’s hand slipped from the top of his head to cradle his cheek, gently turning Wooyoung’s head back to face him. The boy noted how cold the fingers felt.

“Don’t look, little one. It’s best you don’t see such things,” the stranger told him. Wooyoung looked up at him with big eyes, homing in again on the blood still marking his face.

Slowly, Wooyoung pulled his ratty jumper sleeve over his hand, shaking with effort. Reaching up, Wooyoung began to clumsily blot at the blood, squishing the man’s cheek as he tried to wipe it off. Just like his mother would do for him when he ate too messily.

The man, however, looked positively bewildered as the freezing, terrified child made an effort to clean his face; clean it of his kidnappers’ blood, no less. Then, he smiled softly.

“Come,” he offered, hand out for the taking. Wooyoung lowered his hand and stared.

“What’s going to happen to me?” Wooyoung asked, his little voice barely more than a whisper.

“I’m going to take you to a police station, so they can call your family and get you home,” the man told him, standing but not dropping his outstretched hand. “How does that sound?”

For the first time in a long while, Wooyoung smiled, stumbling to his feet. Completely ignoring the man’s hand, the child immediately wrapped his skinny arms around the stranger and buried his face in his stomach. The man gasped, but reached down to pat his back nonetheless.

Looking up, Wooyoung stretched up his arms to the bloody stranger, asking to be picked up. The man obliged, taking the boy into his arms as Wooyoung clung to him like a monkey, his face finding a spot to hide in his neck.

Perhaps it was silly of Wooyoung to trust another stranger after the ordeal he’d been through—especially one covered in blood—but there was something in those clear, inhuman blue eyes that made his chest feel a little lighter.

True to his word, the stranger dropped him off at a police station, watching from across the street as he shuffled inside and to safety. His arrival sent the building into a frenzy, people yelling into phones for paramedics, for his parents.

They called his reappearance a miracle.

In the years to come, through many therapy sessions and many different doctors, everyone insisted that the man Wooyoung had met did not exist. They told him he must’ve escaped on his own, that he was just lucky, and that his mind had created the stranger to help process the trauma.

Wooyoung, however, was never convinced. The man’s eyes were too clear, his words too crisp and articulate for his young mind to dream up.

He spent the next fifteen years of his life thinking about the man, filling sketchbooks and canvases with art of him in an attempt not to forget his face; and he still couldn’t get the brows right. He theorized and dreamed and wrote about him for hours on end—this, however, was not due to that one night alone.

Throughout those fifteen years, Wooyoung would catch shadows disappearing around corners, the briefest glimpses of blue eyes following him as he went about his days—Wooyoung just knew it was him. The man never approached him, never let himself be seen, and never interfered with Wooyoung’s life.

A part of him told him to be concerned, to be afraid. This man was following him, year after year, and Wooyoung had no idea what his intentions were.

That is, until one faithful day, when Wooyoung came out as gay to his best friend at the age of fourteen, only for his friend to start hurling insults. The insults soon turned to rocks and trash his friend found on the ground, and Wooyoung tried to run, backpack shielding his head.

It was fast, nothing more than a flash of movement, but it left his—former—friend on the ground, crying, with a broken arm.

From then on, Wooyoung hadn’t a doubt.

He wasn’t just watching him, he was _protecting_ him.

That man was his guardian angel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blood stains the snow red.

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Wooyoung’s eyes cut across the mirror, tracing the curves and lines of his body, draped in shimmering lavender silk and tight pants. His fingers were adorned with rings that caught the light as his touch ran across his own neck, tracing the string of pearls that hung there.

Red lips pulled into a smirk.

He looked good.

He spun on his heel with a flourish, grabbing a coat and his keys, taking one last glance at his eye makeup before rushing out the door. Wooyoung slammed it closed behind him, fighting with the ancient deadbolt before flying down the stairs and onto the snowy sidewalk.

Wooyoung took the first step, almost slipping and falling backwards, before trudging along through the icy cold. He was going to be late.

“Ya, Wooyoung-ah!”

A godsend, truly.

Wooyoung smiled ear to ear when he heard Kim Hongjoong call to him from his beat-up old sedan, practically skipping across the street and throwing himself into the passenger seat. Hongjoong rolled up his window as Wooyoung settled into the warmth of the car.

“Hyung, I didn’t ask you to pick me up tonight!” Wooyoung chipped. Hongjoong scoffed in response.

“Please, your shift starts in twenty-five minutes, the bus would never get you there. You knew I was coming,” Hongjoong cut his eyes at the younger, teasing, before pulling the car onto the road.

“I may have been counting on it.” Wooyoung’s expression was cheeky, until it faded and his face fell.

There was a new cut along Hongjoong’s forehead, almost hidden by his hair. For a long moment, Wooyoung didn’t say anything, hesitant to bring it into conversation.

“…Another fight?” he finally said. Hongjoong glanced at him, then right back at the road.

“Just some punk,” Hongjoong mumbled, but didn’t elaborate. Wooyoung knew better than to pry.

“Everyone ok?”

“Of course.”

Hongjoong worked at a youth shelter, nestled in Itaewon, the very shelter that had saved Wooyoung some years back. He’d been outed to his parents—an ex that was spiteful—and everything had gone downhill. His mother had started searching conversion therapies and psychiatric wards, blaming his childhood trauma for his homosexuality. His father had been too busy throwing Wooyoung’s belongings onto the street.

Afterward, Wooyoung had been wandering Seoul—with nothing but a little cash and a suitcase—for days when Hongjoong had appeared like an angel, brakes squeaking as his little car pulled up and the door popped open. There, on the sidewalk and in the middle of the night, Wooyoung had been offered a second chance.

The car slid across the snow to a stop, right outside the club where Wooyoung worked. He gathered his things and pulled his coat tight across himself.

“I’d tell you to be careful, but I know you won’t listen, so…” he told Hongjoong, grinning a bit.

“Right back at you, but I’ll say it anyway,” Hongjoong shot back. He smiled wide. “Be safe, Wooyoungie. If you need anything, call.”

“I will,” Wooyoung threw the door open. “Try not to break anything! Or anyone!” Hongjoong laughed loud and yelled a, “Text me on your way home!” the sound swallowed by the snowy wind and the car door shutting. Wooyoung watched as the car rolled away, taking a deep breath before heading inside.

As Wooyoung greeted his coworkers and began preparing for his shift, scrubbing the bar top and prepping bottles; he watched as the club transformed from a florescent-filled warehouse to a dark, neon-filled dream. The bass reverberated through his skull, making his teeth itch in the best way.

Within an hour, patrons filled the space, different perfumes and colognes mixing in the air as the dance floor came alive. Wooyoung was behind the bar, twirling from customer to customer, throwing out charming smiles and one-liners as he fixed drinks.

Time passed quickly. Wooyoung gave flirty winks to regulars, men and women he saw every other night.

He remembered their names.

_Chan, Minhyuk, Yeji, Kangmin, Ryujin…_

The night became a blur of colors and faces and drinks—though none for himself, of course— until Wooyoung stumbled to the back room to grab his coat. He threw it on and waltzed from the bar at the early morning hour, smelling like fruity cocktails.

The temperature outside had dropped even further and the bus had stopped for the night, so Wooyoung prepared for a lengthy walk home. At least the snow had stopped. He was typing out a message to Hongjoong, letting him know he was headed home, when he was suddenly pushed into an alley by someone from behind.

“Ya!” he exclaimed, spinning and pocketing his phone in case it was a thief. Instead, Wooyoung saw a somewhat familiar face. “…Beomseok-ssi?”

Kim Beomseok was looking at him with wide eyes that Wooyoung couldn’t get a read on. He seemed angry, perhaps? His large body was blocking Wooyoung in, making escape near impossible.

Beomseok had been a regular at the club, constantly flirting with Wooyoung until an incident a couple of weeks back.

_“Ya, Wooyoungie,” Beomseok purred, reaching for him. He was at the side of the bar top, where patrons weren’t supposed to be, but Wooyoung was far too busy to give him a lecture. “When are you going to let me take you home from here, eh? It’s been weeks.”_

_“Beomseok-ssi, I’m sorry, but I’m busy,” Wooyoung tried to say gently, softening the rejection with a sweet smile. The older man didn’t always try this, but whenever he did, it was always murder getting him to let it go._

_“This place doesn’t need you, Wooyoungie,” Beomseok insisted. “Not like I do, come on.”_

_“Wooyoung-oppa! Shots please?”_

_“Ryujin, if I give you shots this early, Yeji will have my head! Go dance some and come back in a couple hours, then I’ll help you get wasted.”_

_Beomseok, none too happy at being ignored, reached behind the counter and grabbed Wooyoung by the hip. The younger immediately froze and tensed._

_“Leave with me, Wooyoungie. Come on,” he leaned into his ear, taking another step behind the bar top and his other hand sliding towards Wooyoung’s ass. Wooyoung felt a disgusted shiver race down his spine. He regained himself after a moment and slapped the hands away with a scowl._

_“Do not touch me, Beomsoek-ssi,” Wooyoung said firmly. “The answer is no. Now, excuse me, I have work to do.” He pointed Beomseok out from behind the counter, very aware of how quiet the other patrons had become. Eyes were on them._

_Beomseok’s face went red._

_“Fine! Like—like I’d actually want some gross thing like you, you fucking faggot! You—you fucking disease!” He puffed his chest, preparing to either march away or throw a punch, Wooyoung wasn’t sure, but a bouncer had already appeared to handle the situation._

_Beomseok was escorted out, and Wooyoung had not seen him since._

Now, he was standing in front him. Beomseok seemed off, unsure, fidgeting with his hands and shifting from foot to foot, but livid none the less.

“Wooyoungie,” he mumbled.

“Don’t call me that,” Wooyoung said quietly.

“You should’ve gone with me. Why didn’t you just _fucking_ leave with me?”

“I’m going home, Beomseok-ssi,” Wooyoung deflected. “Let me go home.”

“No, no, you had your fucking chance.”

“Whatever you’re about to do—” Wooyoung stopped, afraid. “Just walk away. Please.”

“I hate you,” Beomseok suddenly spat, eyes manic and crazed. “I hate you, I hate you! You faggot, I hate you! All you’ve done is fucking—fucking lure me in and make me dirty!” He got quiet again. “It’s you.”

Wooyoung knew whatever was happening in Beomseok’s mind was far beyond reason or help, so when he charged, Wooyoung was ready. He swung, clipping Beomseok’s jaw, his rings making a cut, and pulled back for another swing, until a sharp pain hit his abdomen.

Wooyoung froze, eyes wide, looking down to see a knife sticking from his gut. He hadn’t even seen Beomseok pull it. He looked back up at his attacker, who appeared just as shocked as Wooyoung.

Without warning, Beomseok ripped out the blade and stabbed Wooyoung again, higher, then once, twice more. Wooyoung let out pained, choked sounds as he began to bleed, his breathing suddenly tight. Beomseok began to smile.

Wooyoung collapsed, his knees suddenly weak, clutching at the wounds as if his hands could make the bleeding cease. His coat fell from his shoulders, his lavender silk growing red. His back grew wet and icy cold from the snow. Why was it so hard to _breathe?_

Beomseok seemed to realize what he had done, face mad, dropping the knife and pulling at the hair on his scalp. He stumbled back a single step before a shadow sped across the alley.

Wooyoung watched with fuzzy eyes as a figure appeared in front of Beomseok, his face turning shocked as a pale hand shot from the shadow, piercing the man straight through the chest. Beomseok let out a strangled scream, surprised and terror on his face. His back arched in pain, hands clutching at the arm protruding from him.

Wooyoung turned his head, watching the sky as snowflakes began to fall, and he heard the sickening sound of the hand ripping from Beomseok’s body. The dead man hit the ground with a thud.

A snowflake caught on Wooyoung’s eyelash, and as he blinked it away, a face appeared above him. It was the face he’d seen in his dreams, the one that always stared at him from his sketch book or his canvas.

A part of him wished a could draw just once more, to finally get the brows right.

Bright, jewel blue eyes pierced through him.

Only, the stranger’s face wasn’t like before. The first time, as a child, Wooyoung had thought he was like those actors on the television; cool, put together, charming. Now, he looked very, very sad. Worried. Like he was on the verge of tears.

“It’s you,” Wooyoung whispered, finding a smile. “I knew…I know you were—were real.”

“Wooyoung,” the man said, gently cradling the boy as he laid dying. “I am so…sorry. I was not there.” Wooyoung shook his head.

“You’ve…always been there,” he managed, tasting blood on his lips. “Thank you.”

“I can save you, if you wish,” the stranger said urgently. His hold tightened. “But you will not be the same. Not as you are now.” Wooyoung looked up, hopeful, believing.

“You can?” Wooyoung felt tears fall hot down his cold face. He let out a trembling sob. “Yes…yes, please, I don’t…don’t want to die. Please, I’m scared, I don’t—”

The stranger shushed him gently, running a hand through his light hair.

“Little one, don’t worry,” he whispered, fingertips ghosting over Wooyoung’s eyes. “Sleep now, and when you wake, I swear to you, you will never know such pain again.”

Wooyoung did as he was told, closing his eyes as the man bent down toward him. The last thing the boy remembered was a pain on his neck, right where it met his shoulder, and a gasp of air. What felt like ice flowed through his veins, throughout his body, down his legs to his toes. It raced through his arms and across his chest.

Once the cold reached his head, he knew no more.

Come sunrise, all that would be left of that night would be a patch of snow, stained red as rubies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed. Please comment and let me know what you think.

**Author's Note:**

> No plan here, to be honest. Shall we see where this goes?
> 
> Let me know what you thought.


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